Dangerous Ground: The Team Book Five

by David M. Salkin

  “We’ve been following stolen art from the Middle East. ISIS has been destroying everything they see, but occasionally, when they come across something that’s special but small enough to move, they try and sell it on the black market. We’re talking tens of millions of dollars.”

  “Okay,” said Julia.

  “So we found an Arab who’s been selling in the US. The person who’s been buying the art presents a huge problem. I think you may be in a position to help, Darren. Privately. Outside the agency.”

  They all took a break and drank their beers.

  “Who’s the customer?” asked Julia.

  Darren glanced around and spoke so softly they could barely hear him. “Danielle Reynaud.”

  Julia and Chris looked at each other, then back at Darren. “As in, the secretary of state?” asked Chris.

  “Holy shit,” said Julia.

  “Yes. And yes. Holy shit,” said Darren.

  “So you won’t tell Gallo because you think he’d cover it up? Seriously? That’s a big leap,” said Chris.

  “Not at all. Reynaud thinks she’s our next president. Gallo wants to stay on her good side. And they’re more than just friends.”

  “No way, he’s banging that old hag?” asked Chris.

  Darren laughed for the first time. “No, not like that. Good God. Even Gallo wouldn’t hit that. No—they have some mutual business ventures.”

  “Is that even legal?” asked Julia.

  “It’s a gray area. One that the FBI won’t be looking at any time soon.”

  They each ate a few oysters for a minute and tried to digest what had just been said.

  Chris stared at his empty oyster shell. “So you think Reynaud knows that Wallace was on to her and set him up?”

  Darren shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think she knew we were on to her. As far as setting up Wallace, it would be tough to do. And I don’t think Gallo would help her with that—that’s way too risky. Hell, for all we know it can be China or Iran. But I do know that Reynaud is spending big bucks from a State Department account to buy stolen artwork from ISIS. That’s a fact.”

  “So why not just run with that?” asked Chris.

  “I don’t trust Gallo not to bury it or tip her off. “

  “And what would you want us to do?”

  “Break into her houses and photograph her art collections. Get some hard evidence that she possesses stolen art.”

  “I thought you said you had that already?”

  “We have wire transfers to a guy we know is selling stolen art, but she’s a crafty snake. She’ll say the guy is doing State Department work or some bullshit. We need proof. And I can’t open a case file on her and have agents breaking into her house.”

  “Great, so you want me to get arrested,” said Chris.

  “Us. Not ‘me.’ Us. If you go I go,” said Julia.

  “Darren . . .” Chris started to shake his head.

  “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need you. I’ll help you get it done. I’ll have blueprints of her houses and I can get the alarm codes via computer hack before you break in so you won’t trip any. We can take care of outside cameras from our end. We’ll hit the houses when she’s out of town. I have one agent who knows about this, and she’ll help you, too. I just need you to get inside, take pictures, maybe steal something small enough to carry, and that’s it.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then, when I have proof, I can go to the president or the DHS director.”

  Julia looked at Chris. “It’s Wallace. We can’t say no.”

  “This is going to cost you another dozen oysters,” said Chris, looking sullen.

  Chapter 11

  Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei

  Apo and Bruce were met at the airport by one of Brunei Petroleum’s drivers and taken to their office in Bandar Seri Begawan, not too far from the Sultan’s palace. They passed a few billboards with the sultan on them, wearing his full military dress uniform. He had presented himself with dozens of medals and ribbons and looked quite impressive. The Malay slogans under the picture saluted the sultan’s greatness.

  The Mercedes sped along new highways that had very little traffic. They arrived at a modern-looking steel and glass building, complete with a large picture of the sultan in the front window. The driver opened their door and brought them to another man who escorted them up an escalator to a lobby where yet another man greeted them. A woman in a hijab brought them a tray of tea, which they thanked her for, and then they followed the other man down a hallway to a conference room.

  They entered the room, which was empty, and took seats at a very large table with enough chairs for twenty more people. They were alone in the room, but assumed they were being observed with unseen cameras, so they sat in silence and waited. Eventually, the door opened and three men entered. After bows, handshakes, and greetings, they sat down and began their discussions.

  Bruce began the presentation with maps and geologic surveys, all fictitious, but believable enough based on the existing oil fields in the area. He showed an area shaded in red that covered a large expanse near Brunei’s newest artificial island.

  “If we hit the pocket we believe is located in this location, you’ll be pumping natural gas and crude for five hundred years. The production, once in full operation, will dwarf anything in the Middle East. It can make Brunei a world oil powerhouse. I can’t emphasize enough just how excited we are.” Bruce took a dramatic pause to read the smiling faces. “Now, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. These are going to be very deep drills that will require our most sophisticated drilling techniques and our best people. If it was easy to find, the Chinese would already be pumping the area.”

  The Bruneians took the bait and one of them snapped at Bruce. “The Chinese have no jurisdiction in this area, no matter what they claim! International law is on our side on this.”

  Bruce bowed slightly. “Of course. And this is why we are approaching you with this deal. The Chinese have been very, very aggressive in trying to acquire our specialized drilling platforms and special skills to begin exploration in this area of the South China Sea. We believe, as backed by The Hague’s findings, that this oil clearly belongs to Brunei. By striking oil quickly, you can reaffirm your rights to the area. I envision dozens of platforms flying the flag of Brunei within eighteen months. That said, we would like to begin exploratory drilling immediately. The Chinese continue to expand their claims, pushing south. If you are already drilling and producing, they’d have a much harder time trying to say they found it first.”

  Several of the men nodded. Their chairman spoke up. “And what do you see as a fair contract?”

  Bruce waited before answering, allowing the drama to build. “We anticipate such large production, we’re willing to take thirty-five percent, but only if we can start immediately, before any entanglements with China could occur.”

  The Bruneians tried to hide their total elation. Interglobe has just given away the farm in the worst business move in history. The chairman stood and extended his hand. “Gentlemen, we have deal.”

  Over the next hour, they began the process of drawing up contracts to begin oil exploration off the coast. While Apo and Bruce had to agree to employ locals to boost the local economy and create jobs, the initial offshore rig setup and geologic mapping would be done by Interglobe Oil staff only. By the time the locals would be brought in to run the daily operations, the nukes would be recovered, the rig would be abandoned, and Interglobe would be a ghost.

  When Apo and Bruce left, the gentlemen in the room laughed and exchanged congratulations with each other on sealing the best deal in the history of their company. Evidently, the expression “if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is” didn’t translate into Malay. They spent the next hour running numbers and estimates, and privately deciding on how to s
pend their huge bonuses.

  Apo and Bruce left Brunei later that day on the pretext they had other business in the region and flew to Japan, where they took another flight to Okinawa. Okinawa provided a secure area at the American Marine base at Camp Hansen, home to six thousand US Marines. Using a “clean room” in a secure communications building as their temporary residence, they were able to speak freely to Langley without worrying about being bugged, or being obvious that they knew they were being observed, back in Brunei.

  After the third time Director Holstrum’s direct phone went to voice mail, Apo called Darren Davis. He informed Darren they were in a clean room in Okinawa and caught him up on their travels and the great news about the oil drilling deal.

  When Apo was finished with the briefing, it was Darren’s turn. “I hope you’re sitting down,” said Darren. And then he told Apo everything about the FBI investigation. He also told Apo that he was doing what he could to assist their boss behind the scenes. “In the meantime, you’ll be dealing with me directly.”

  They spoke for a while about the possibilities of Holstrum’s situation, neither of them entertaining for a second the idea that Holstrum was a pedophile. That left the Chinese, Iranians, Russians, or possibly someone on the inside as the most likely culprits. Even if Reynaud was aware she was under investigation, that was still a long shot. Another “situation that’s being looked at carefully.”

  When they hung up, Apo and Bruce voiced their frustrations and began planning the next parts of their operation, which would now involve lots of moving parts.

  Very large moving parts.

  That floated.

  And drilled for oil offshore.

  Chapter 12

  USS John Warner—6º 20’ 25” North 113º 17’ 47” East

  “Steady as she goes, Mr. Talbot,” said Commander Norman.

  “Aye, aye, skipper,” replied the pilot.

  Commander Vince Norman was watching the Chinese surface fleet on a flat-screen monitor. Yesterday, the same Chinese ships had harassed another US guided missile cruiser as it traveled a patrol route south from Japan through the South China Sea.

  “Change course to Lima November,” ordered the skipper. Lima November, “Location of Nukes,” was the designated call sign of the location of the downed aircraft and its nuclear payload. “Mr. Burdge, you have the chair.”

  The XO took over the bridge, and Vince headed back to his small wardroom to read the encrypted e-mails he had received through the photonic mast’s electronics. The sub could only send and receive communications when the mast was breaking the surface, and each extension of the mast meant lots of new e-mails and possibly new orders via the Submarine Satellite Information Exchange Subsystem. The SSIXS used ultra high frequency waves bounced off satellites to avoid enemy detection.

  It took almost an hour to catch up on all of the messages and intelligence reports. The last one took the longest to read, and gave him a smile. Finally. A real mission. Babysit the crash site and help recover two nuclear weapons in complete secrecy.

  Chapter 13

  Special Operations Command Pacific—SOCPAC

  An oil platform had been borrowed by the CIA from who-knows-where and for lord-knows-how-much-money and towed in by ship to the waters west of Honolulu. Once there, the team was flown in by helicopter. As they hopped off on to the massive floating structure, the men gazed at their steel surroundings with a sense of awe.

  “Damn,” whispered Moose, half to himself. “This thing is huge . . .”

  “Yeah, no shit,” replied Ripper.

  “Pretty good view, though,” said Hodges, the sniper. He was always looking for a high perch and just couldn’t help himself. “I think I could hit a Taliban target in Afghanistan from here.”

  “You must have some new kind of gun we ain’t heard of yet,” mumbled McCoy.

  “Welcome home, gentlemen,” barked CWO Gautreau. “For the next few weeks, you will be living here learning how to fake operating an offshore drilling rig while training for the underwater recovery of two nuclear bombs.”

  “Offshore drilling and two nukes, what could possibly go wrong?” asked Jon Cohen sarcastically.

  “You will not be drilling! You will be faking it!” snapped the chief. “All you need to do is be able to turn the appropriate dials and operate computers that aren’t attached to anything underwater. If all goes well, no one will even visit the rig, and you can just focus on the recovery operation. This training is simply to make sure you can look like a bunch of professional oil rig workers if the Bruneians send anyone out to take a peek, you follow?”

  Several “aye, ayes” sang out in response.

  “Follow me below deck and stow your gear, then I’ll give you a tour of your new home.”

  For the next three hours, the team learned their way around the massive steel structure. Being seamen, the vessel reminded them of being aboard a ship, albeit a very cumbersome design that wouldn’t sail well. It would, however, float in almost any sea conditions, including tsunamis and hurricanes. They each had a small room, slightly larger than what they were used to on US Navy vessels. The furniture was new and everything looked fresh and clean.

  “Ah, the private sector,” said Moose with a smile as he patted his mattress.

  Ripper had thrown his gear into his own room across the narrow hallway. “Hey, I got a TV in my room!”

  “Don’t get used to it,” shouted Moose. “Besides, where we’re going, ain’t gonna be nothing on TV worth watching.”

  “Okay, ladies! Topside!” ordered the chief.

  The seven members of the team hustled back up to the deck near the helipad, then followed Gautreau into the office, which was the heart of the controls. From the office, they looked down on the platform and could see the drilling machinery.

  “Tomorrow, an actual oil worker is coming aboard to instruct you on the basics of running this platform. Today, I’m merely giving you the tour of the rig and some basic vocabulary terms to learn. I have books for each of you to start reading tonight so you have some clue what the man will be talking about tomorrow. You don’t need to know how to actually drill and run that part of the rig, but you do have to know how to anchor the cables, which is complicated. This platform floats, but gets anchored to the seabed with long steel cables. You’re going to get towed into position near the artificial island where the plane is, and then it’ll be up to you to anchor this monstrosity into position.”

  “This thing is getting towed to Brunei?” asked Eric.

  Gautreau shook his head. “Fucking Marines. I’m glad you’re good at shooting. No. You are not getting towed halfway around the world in this thing. It would take a year. You’re flying to the Philippines and then being taken to the rig you’re going to use. That rig will be towed into position, and then you’ll anchor up near the crash site.”

  Eric shrugged. Jon pushed him and laughed.

  Ray Jensen looked around with a strange expression on his face. Ryan O’Connor stared at him. “What is it?”

  Ray continued looking around. “It’s kind of cool. This rig I mean. I could see myself working on one of these when I retired. Out on the water. Quiet. It’s pretty cool.”

  Ryan made a face. “Dude, when we get out of the navy, I’m finding a job surrounded by chicks. You want to spend another decade surrounded by smelly dudes?”

  Ray cocked his head. “Good point. But I bet these guys make bank! Collect a fat check and fly someplace with lots of chicks and a pocket full of cash.”

  “Now you’re talking!” said Ryan with a smile.

  They followed Gautreau and their teammates down a long set of stairs, deeper into the bowels of their strange new home.

  Chapter 14

  Washington, DC

  Chris and Julia had flown back to DC three days after Darren left. He had set them up with a company-o
wned apartment in a nice, tree-lined neighborhood in Dupont Circle. It was a neighborhood that they could never have afforded on their own, not far from the Argentinian embassy.

  “He must really love you,” Julia said as she walked into the apartment, gazing around at the furniture and layout of their new temporary home.

  “Don’t kid yourself. He picked this spot because it’s close to one of Reynaud’s apartments.”

  “One of?” asked Julia.

  “Yeah. Madam Secretary has two places in DC, one in San Francisco, one in Boston, and one in New York City.”

  “Why two here?”

  “No idea. I’m guessing she lives in one and uses the other one for off-the-grid meetings.”

  “You don’t like her much, do you?”

  “Not particularly. I’ve met a few guys that worked her security detail. They can’t stand her. She’s about the nastiest, most degrading human being on the planet from what I’ve heard. The fact that she’s corrupt as hell and gets away with it every day is pretty infuriating, too.”

  “She might be your next president,” said Julia with a smirk.

  “Yeah, well, maybe not if she’s in jail.”

  Julia stopped walking and stared at Chris. “Hey. Let me ask you something. Do you think there’s even the slightest chance that we’re being used?”

  Chris folded his arms. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what if we’re being manipulated for some political reason to try and discredit her. You trust Darren one hundred percent?”

  “Absolutely. He ran every mission I’ve been on since joining the team.”

  “This whole thing is just very disturbing,” she said. “It’s one thing to work a mission overseas against a nation state or terror organization. This is way different. And illegal.”

  “You don’t have to be a part of this. I told you—I’d prefer that you weren’t.”

  “And I told you,” she replied, walking to him, “that if you go, I go.” She embraced him and gave him a soft kiss. “I’m just a little paranoid. DC scares me.”